I love games and puzzles. I'm reading a book right now on word games, and I thought it might be interesting to post some of the things I'm learning. The chapter I'm on right now is talking about word squares. A word square is a square grid of letters that spells out words going both across and down. For example, here's a simple 3 x 3 word square:
P A T
A C E
T E N
Word squares became popular in Britain in the mid-1800s. Someone eventually thought of adding clues to try to get the player to build a word square from the answers -- thus, word squares are the direct predecessors of the modern crossword. For instance, the following clues might be used for the above example:
1. A unit of butter
2. The highest card
3. Five twos
Bored at work? Try coming up with one. It will keep you occupied for at least several minutes. Hey, it's better brain exercise than checking ESPN.com for the twentieth time today...
PUZZLE #1:
1. Unpleasant sensation
2. Facial eruption
3. More than one B&B
4. Eagle's home
_ _ _ _
_ _ _ _
_ _ _ _
_ _ _ _
Post a comment if you have the answer!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
Unwanted Visitors
Ever walk into a complete stranger's home? I've done it at least twice. Both times were pretty uncomfortable. At least this last time was funny, too.
I know there are times when it's socially acceptable to allow a stranger into your home. I've let in the guy from the gas company, the apartment building handyman, the LAPD fingerprint specialist after our place was ransacked (who, by the way, lifted a nice fat print off of Rita's jewelry box, which led to a positive I.D., which led to an additional 3 years probation for the bastard and a $50 "restitution" check every month for yours truly). Of course, these people all had my consent to come on in and do their business.
What is not cool, however, is going in to someone's house uninvited. I did not know this in second grade. I remember it like it was 24 years ago. It was a hot summer day, and my mom and I were headed toward the community pool in our condo complex to go swimming. I guess my mom forgot her watch or didn't want the tan line or whatever, but she wanted to know what time it was, so she told me to go find out. I whined that I didn't want to walk all the way back to our place, which was six whole condo units away. So she said fine, just go ask someone. As my mom continued toward the pool, I circled back and came upon an open garage a couple of units down the street. It looked just like my garage (imagine that!), so I squeezed between the cars, opened the door that led to the downstairs hallway, strode into the living room and saw a blonde woman sitting at her breakfast table. She was either smoking or eating a sandwich, or maybe her hair was in curlers (gimme a break, it was 24 years ago). Anyway, she was startled and asked who I was and why I was there, and in response I awkwardly mumbled something like, "My mom wanted to know...what time it is, and...came through the garage..." In my mind, she chased me out with a broom while screaming incoherently, but I think it was actually less dramatic than that. SO awkward. (Involuntary shudder and cringe.)
That was pretty traumatic. And then there's the kind of encounter like what my friend Dave and I experienced on Cinco de Mayo, just last week. Not traumatic, just bizarre. Dave picked me up after work in downtown L.A. and we headed toward our friend Bob's surprise birthday party in Fullerton (Orange County). Bob has a really nice place in one of those new neighborhoods where each home is a different style but somehow they still all look the same. Unfortunately, Dave wrote the address down wrong, so we were screwed from the get-go. We found the wrong house number - 1812 - and just as we were reaching to ring the bell, the door swung open. So Dave and I walked in, and we saw four Asians in the living room, and the older man who opened the door was smiling and looked happy to see us. So we said "hi," introduced ourselves to everyone and, instinctively, took off our shoes. I didn't see Bob's girlfriend...or anyone else I recognized. Hmmm. Weird. The one who looked like the "mother" greeted us and asked who we were there to see -- "Jonathan" or some other boy's name. Vague sense of confusion setting in. She said, in a kind manner, "I don't think I've seen you here before -- no, I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you two around. Have you been here before?" At that point, I think I mouthed the word "Bob." Dave may have asked, "Is Bob here?" It's all a blur in my mind now. I think at this point, Dave had started putting his shoes back on, but I was still befuddled -- probably with my mouth agape. Then "Jonathan" and the other boy with a name came running down the stairs, and I realized the gig was up. "Sorry, I think we're in the wrong house," one or both of us said, and I grabbed my shoes and bolted outside. We heard them cackling behind us in the house as I hopped around and put on my shoes as fast as I could. Then we both just busted a gut laughing at our idiocy. All I could think was, "Dammit, I took off my shoes!" For some reason that was hilarious.
I know there are times when it's socially acceptable to allow a stranger into your home. I've let in the guy from the gas company, the apartment building handyman, the LAPD fingerprint specialist after our place was ransacked (who, by the way, lifted a nice fat print off of Rita's jewelry box, which led to a positive I.D., which led to an additional 3 years probation for the bastard and a $50 "restitution" check every month for yours truly). Of course, these people all had my consent to come on in and do their business.
What is not cool, however, is going in to someone's house uninvited. I did not know this in second grade. I remember it like it was 24 years ago. It was a hot summer day, and my mom and I were headed toward the community pool in our condo complex to go swimming. I guess my mom forgot her watch or didn't want the tan line or whatever, but she wanted to know what time it was, so she told me to go find out. I whined that I didn't want to walk all the way back to our place, which was six whole condo units away. So she said fine, just go ask someone. As my mom continued toward the pool, I circled back and came upon an open garage a couple of units down the street. It looked just like my garage (imagine that!), so I squeezed between the cars, opened the door that led to the downstairs hallway, strode into the living room and saw a blonde woman sitting at her breakfast table. She was either smoking or eating a sandwich, or maybe her hair was in curlers (gimme a break, it was 24 years ago). Anyway, she was startled and asked who I was and why I was there, and in response I awkwardly mumbled something like, "My mom wanted to know...what time it is, and...came through the garage..." In my mind, she chased me out with a broom while screaming incoherently, but I think it was actually less dramatic than that. SO awkward. (Involuntary shudder and cringe.)
That was pretty traumatic. And then there's the kind of encounter like what my friend Dave and I experienced on Cinco de Mayo, just last week. Not traumatic, just bizarre. Dave picked me up after work in downtown L.A. and we headed toward our friend Bob's surprise birthday party in Fullerton (Orange County). Bob has a really nice place in one of those new neighborhoods where each home is a different style but somehow they still all look the same. Unfortunately, Dave wrote the address down wrong, so we were screwed from the get-go. We found the wrong house number - 1812 - and just as we were reaching to ring the bell, the door swung open. So Dave and I walked in, and we saw four Asians in the living room, and the older man who opened the door was smiling and looked happy to see us. So we said "hi," introduced ourselves to everyone and, instinctively, took off our shoes. I didn't see Bob's girlfriend...or anyone else I recognized. Hmmm. Weird. The one who looked like the "mother" greeted us and asked who we were there to see -- "Jonathan" or some other boy's name. Vague sense of confusion setting in. She said, in a kind manner, "I don't think I've seen you here before -- no, I'm pretty sure I haven't seen you two around. Have you been here before?" At that point, I think I mouthed the word "Bob." Dave may have asked, "Is Bob here?" It's all a blur in my mind now. I think at this point, Dave had started putting his shoes back on, but I was still befuddled -- probably with my mouth agape. Then "Jonathan" and the other boy with a name came running down the stairs, and I realized the gig was up. "Sorry, I think we're in the wrong house," one or both of us said, and I grabbed my shoes and bolted outside. We heard them cackling behind us in the house as I hopped around and put on my shoes as fast as I could. Then we both just busted a gut laughing at our idiocy. All I could think was, "Dammit, I took off my shoes!" For some reason that was hilarious.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Inside Our Minds
Of the two of us, Rita is more prone to burst out laughing spontaneously during a car ride. This usually happens when she has "gone to the theater": lulled into a half-conscious state through a potent combination of the car's gentle rocking motion and the soothing familiarity of one of the three CDs we keep in the car (and never switch out for some reason), she replays a prior event or conversation in her brain over and over again. It's a fascinating phenomenon that could take up an entire blog by itself -- her eyes dart back and forth, not focusing on anything in particular; her lips move along with the scrolling text in her mind's eye. I know it's happening because she's stopped talking, stopped singing. Sometimes I catch her, in the corner of my eye, and I ask, "What are you thinking about?" Often the burst of laughter is because she knows I've caught her again. Other times, however, it's because the memory was really, really funny. So she'll remind me of the funny, and soon we're both laughing.
I suppose the rough equivalent of "going to the theater" for me is when I "see the train coming." This usually happens when we're eating at a restaurant. According to Rita, there are times when I zone out in mid-conversation -- my gaze falls off to the side, my mouth parts ever so slightly, and my eyes grow just a tad bit bigger and rounder. But I'm not doing anything cool like re-living a wonderful memory or trying to re-create a snappy piece of dialogue. It's just a blank gap in my consciousness. I'm lucky I don't drool. When Rita says, "You see the train coming again?" I snap out of it and grin sheepishly.
I hope I never see the train coming while Rita's in the theater. We may never get back here!
I suppose the rough equivalent of "going to the theater" for me is when I "see the train coming." This usually happens when we're eating at a restaurant. According to Rita, there are times when I zone out in mid-conversation -- my gaze falls off to the side, my mouth parts ever so slightly, and my eyes grow just a tad bit bigger and rounder. But I'm not doing anything cool like re-living a wonderful memory or trying to re-create a snappy piece of dialogue. It's just a blank gap in my consciousness. I'm lucky I don't drool. When Rita says, "You see the train coming again?" I snap out of it and grin sheepishly.
I hope I never see the train coming while Rita's in the theater. We may never get back here!
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